


Whispers in the Darkened Bedroom

by rhodrymavelyne



Category: Witchblade (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:24:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodrymavelyne/pseuds/rhodrymavelyne
Summary: Haunted by memories of a time and death which never was, Jake McCartey gets a visitor in the darkness in his bedroom.





	Whispers in the Darkened Bedroom

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this isn't a mm erotic scene, although there is some steam. It's more about Jake and Ian facing some of what lay between them, acknowledged only in dreams, although there is m/m steam between them. :)
> 
> This takes place in the second season, the repeated year where events happen differently, yet paralleling certain incidents in different ways. 
> 
> Witchblade doesn't belong to me. It has kidnapped by imagination of late, leaving characters in my original stories and unfinished fanfics wanting to get me back, wondering when this greedy fandom is going to stop taking up chunks of my time which they were supposed to have reserved, thank you very much. (wry grin)

Somehow Jake McCartey wasn’t surprised by the weight on the edge of his bed, the silent presence leaning over him. 

“Do you usually sneak in cops’s bedrooms at night?” Jake hid a tension which was half fear, half the secret yearnings he kept in this bedroom behind humour. “Or am I just special?”

“A little of both.” Ian Nottingham’s soft, polite tone, thick with menace was almost a caress. “I once asked you to join me in bed, Detective. I thought I’d join you in yours instead.”

I don’t swing that way. The words were on Jake’s lips, but they died unspoken. 

“Guess this is better than your fist against my face.” He could almost feel the blows, feel his head hitting the bench. “Or your hands wrapped around my throat.”

None of those things had ever happened. They were just dreams, vivid images Jake wished were simple nightmares. When had they become charged with the same powerful yearning he associated with riding an especially high, powerful wave?

A wave which could knock him over, take him down. A wave whose power he could share, if he caught it at the right moment. 

This was Ian Nottingham’s cue to disappoint Jake McCartey with the usual lies criminals hiding in the darkness gave. What are you talking about? I never hit you. I never strangled you. You can’t prove any of this. I want my lawyer. 

This criminal didn’t disappoint. Ian Nottingham smiled, a slow, appreciative spread of bearded lips across a high cheekboned, handsome face, mysterious as the cast of a pharoh in the shadows of the night. 

“Some dark part of me truly enjoys preying upon the men close to her.” Ian allowed a gloved hand to creep toward Jake, stopping short of his thigh. “Seldom have I gotten off on anything as much as snapping your neck, Detective.”

“No man is good enough for Sara, huh?” Jake inched away, secretly disappointed that Ian had stopped. Secretly sorry he’d brought up Sara at this private moment between the two of them, yet she was always between them. 

Whatever was between Jake McCartey and Ian Nottingham, Sara Pezzini was at the heart of it. The detective wanted to unravel at least a tiny piece of the mystery. Whatever Ian Nottingham could be persuaded to share. 

Perhaps his naked, vulnerable body was more convincing that a badge. 

“Is any man worthy of my mother?” Ian rasied his eyes, allowing them to roam every inch of Jake. “Not only is Sara my beloved goddess whom I’ve been waiting for my entire life, she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother.”

“You must have hated Conchobar.” The words slipped from Jake’s mouth, a statement which was almost a question. 

Conchobar, who was that? Images of a darkened bar, a gravelly voice carrying to every inch, belting songs about a goddess who’d loved a king, convincing a security guard to commit murder. 

Where were these memories coming from? 

“At least he was a king who thought he was a mere bard. Much like Sara is a goddess who thinks she is a mere cop.” Nottingham fixed his pitiless dark eyes upon Jake. “You reinforce these beliefs, Detective.”

“No, it’s Sara’s choice to be a cop.” Conviction, which had abandoned Jake for most of this intimate conversation, returned like the comforting weight of a weapon in his hand. “Or maybe you’d prefer she was Kenneth Irons’ toy.” Jake released all of his viciousness in his smile. “Like you.”

“The only man worthy of a boy’s mother is his father.” Nottingham lowered his gaze from his rival’s expression. “Even if the boy may covet his mother himself.”

“What do you want, Ian?” Why was he calling this creep by his first name? Something about the darkness of this bedroom, the way Ian Nottingham looked at him invoked this intimacy. “I’ll admit, I used to dream about Sara.”

Dream about Sara in a dream with Ian’s hands wrapped around his throat and the surf crashing down on him. “Only I stopped dreaming.”

Dreams had been replaced by a real life closeness to Sara. A closeness which included Danny Wu as well.

Once this would have freaked Jake McCartey out. Now he accepted it with the ease of one who’d come back from the brink of death. 

Only he hadn’t died. Had he?

“Perhaps there is hope for you, Detective Jake McCartey.” A small smile touched Ian’s bearded lips. “Perhaps you’re more than the shallow, deceitful boy toy I once thought you.”

“You really know how to make a guy feel all tingly, Nottingham.” Time to retreat behind last names while flirting. In spite of them, Jake allowed a roguish grin to spread across his face. 

Ian gave him a small, half nod in return. He rose up from the bed, disappearing into the shadows. 

Jake McCartey released a sigh of relief…and disappointment.


End file.
